


Riding Lessons

by thewolvesintherain



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Depressing, Gen, Osgiliath, not-a-death-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvesintherain/pseuds/thewolvesintherain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faramir reflecting on his life during his charge on Osgiliath</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riding Lessons

When he had been very, very young, Boromir had taught him to ride a horse.

He couldn't' have been more than six or seven. Boromir was already thirteen at the time, and had declared, one morning, when their tutor had had a headache, that he was going to teach Faramir to ride.

He'd always been small, and slight, and he remembered this because even at seven, Boromir could still toss him over his shoulder. And had. On multiple occasions.

It was strange, that he should think of that now, as he tacked up his horse and mounted, feeling the metal armor pull on him strangely.

I do not know how Boromir stood this every day. It was bad enough on ceremonies, but for battle?

Ah, well, he doubted that there would be much of an actual battle. At least these men were cavalry and not rangers, all volunteers, all who knew what it was they were doing. There were a few who were young and foolish enough to believe that they might come back, but most of the company was comprised of men who believed that he was as good a place as any to make their end.

Boromir had helped him mount, more of a scramble into the saddle than anything else. But the farrier had watched indulgently from the stables, allowing Boromir to teach his little brother. He'd been a good man, Faramir remembered. He'd often hidden in the stables to read. Laying very very still in the hayloft, so that the crackling of the straw would not alert anyone as to his where-abouts. Boromir always knew though.

He shook his head to clear it. He needed to be sharp, but oh, he'd gone so long without sleep, his thoughts were like leaves on the wind…

It had been windy that day. The wind had ticked his collarbones with the ends of his hair, and made the horse's mane tangle around his fingers. Boromir had held the reins, leading the horse in a circle while he held on tightly, doing it a few times until he had gotten the hang of it. He'd been patient, not like father, and let him get used to being so high up. And he'd found he'd liked it. Being up so tall, the leather of the saddle hot on his legs, the horse chuffing underneath him. It had been an old destrier, long since devoid of any notions of kicking or bucking. But he had loved his riding lesson. Loved having his brother's undivided attention for an afternoon.

He'd been little then, and hadn't known how much was expected of Boromir, even then. He'd gotten a switching for missing his lessons, but hadn't seemed to mind so much, instead picking Faramir up again and telling him, "We'll be sneakier next time."  
And they were. Boromir gave him lessons in riding and fencing for years, in repayment for Faramir doing his copying. He'd had to use his left to make his brother's scrawl, and was now just as good with either hand, a skill useful in battle. When Boromir had heard that he'd laughed and said that of course he'd known that, was doing it for Faramir's own good.

They were there now, Osgilliath loomed in front of them, silent and deadly, and seething with evil. He wanted to wait, to hesitate, just for a moment, just a moment longer…

Boromir had always been the brave one. He did not want to die.

He signaled anyway, kicking his horse into a charge and drawing his sword.

He did not even feel the arrow as it hit him, until he was on the ground, and his horse was running off without him. He wanted to call it back, but couldn't quite manage, he was so tired…When had he last slept?

Panic seized him. He must not go to sleep. He must not –

But it was all right. He'd forgotten the last time he'd fallen from a horse, but he remembered the first. It had been the first time.

When he'd been very very young, Boromir had taught him to ride a horse. And he had fallen, that first time, when the horse moved one way and he another. One minute he'd been looking at his brother, the next he'd been looking at the sky, which had been very beautiful that day. It was today too. And Boromir had knelt over him, keeping him still to make sure that nothing was broken inside before he'd helped him up, telling him, "It's all right little brother."  
So, it was all right.

It was all right.

Once, when he'd been very very young, Boromir had taught him to ride his horse…


End file.
